


Bad Day, Good Day

by MoraMew



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Drinking, F/M, Hook-Up, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 08:33:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12627111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoraMew/pseuds/MoraMew
Summary: “I do remember seeing you,” he tells her. Another burst of color flares across her cheeks, some little widening of her eyes showing off her (honestly a little amusing) surprise. “What’s your name?”She swallows and his eyes trail the movement, the way the soft flesh of her throat moves.“Ya- Yachi,” she informs him, voice nearly a whisper. “Yachi Hitoka.”“Well, Yachi-san,” he says, his lips curling into a smile and her lashes fluttering just so, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”





	Bad Day, Good Day

**Author's Note:**

> it's 7:33 in the morning and this wouldn't let me rest until it was out of my brain and i love oiyachi y'all. i fuckin' love them and i am so tired and sleepy but i LOVE THEM

Today has been, for lack of a better word, _shit_.  
  
It started off with sleeping through _all_ of his alarms and stubbing his toe when stumbling out of bed. And then followed through with breaking his favorite coffee mug in his rush to get ready for school. A shard cut his foot and picking up the shattered pieces made him late for his class and presented him, red faced and panting, to a group of forty of his peers.  
  
The embarrassment bled into the realization that he forgot his binder of notes for the class at home and he was lost and frustrated for the first period of the day.  
  
It sucked.  
  
It sucked and dropping his phone sucked and running into his ex sucked and getting lectured by his father sucked and having to talk to financial aid sucked and stepping in a puddle and soaking his socks sucked and spilling coffee all over his favorite hoodie sucked.  
  
And now, standing here in his kitchen and seeing that he doesn’t have one drop of liquor to wash away this _terrible_ day, sucks.  
  
Oikawa scowls and glares at the empty cabinet, tries to will a bottle of whiskey into existence.  
  
It doesn’t work. His day- and now his night- still _sucks_.  
  
Oikawa takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, tries to calm the frustration raging inside him.  
  
Okay. Fine. _Fine_ . If he doesn’t have anything to drink, he’ll just go to the bar. It’s been awhile and maybe he’ll find some sort of distraction to make this _shitty fucking day_ a little better.  
  
Oikawa opens his eyes and takes another breath.  
  
Right. That’s what he’ll do.

* * *

  
It takes him awhile but he showers and makes himself presentable, takes the time to make himself look _good_. He’s been slacking a bit this semester, if he’s being honest, and it feels oddly a little therapeutic to take the time to do his hair neatly, pick out an outfit instead of throwing any random thing on, and finally use the cologne that had fallen underneath his dresser weeks ago that he had been too lazy to retrieve until now.  
  
He feels better when he leaves the apartment, almost good. His downstairs neighbor eyes him appreciatively when he reaches the landing and that helps things, just a bit.  
  
Oikawa manages to smile a little to himself as he walks out of his building.  
  
It’s a quick walk to the bar he has in mind; just a block away, nestled right between a bookstore he’s been meaning to visit and a lawyer’s office he hopes he never has a need for. It’s not a big place or a small place, popular or unpopular. It’s right down the middle in all its aspects, perfect to have a drink and maybe flirt the stress of the day away or to just sit by himself and slowly unwind as he forgets his annoyances with a few choice cocktails.  
  
The bar is quiet when he pushes open the door, only a few scattered patrons filling the smokey room. There’s some sort of foreign song playing on the jukebox in the corner- r &b, he thinks, something he vaguely recognizes.  
  
“ _You don't know what's in store_ _  
_ _But you know what you're here for_ ”  
  
Oikawa hums at the lyrics, the slight dark pull the song holds and the odd sense of relaxation that settles over him, the calm that makes his shoulders loosen and his tongue run over his lips.  
  
Yes. This was a good idea.  
  
He walks over to the bar and sits himself down at the side, not quite wanting to take center stage at the moment. He orders a sazerac to start off with and the bartender smiles at him a little, dips his eyes to Oikawa’s lips before turning to make his drink.  
  
It’s a definite ego stroke but Oikawa’s not interested.  
  
Oikawa props his chin on his palm and glances around the bar, takes in the other patrons milling about. They’re mostly blue collared workers with a few scattered college kids, an old man or two. In one booth, there’s a clearly arguing couple. In another, there’s a professor he vaguely recognizes from the economics department.  
  
Oikawa quickly slides his gaze from him and hums to himself, thinks he’ll just be in the bar for a few drinks and then stumble home alone once he’s good and tipsy.  
  
At least, that is until he spots one final patron.  
  
Blonde. She’s blonde and tiny- so very tiny it makes him breathe deep. From across the bar she _seems_ cute (and somehow familiar?) and Oikawa tilts his head a little, eyes the vacant seat across from her in the booth and the mostly empty cocktail glass in front of her. He watches her swallow the rest of her drink down and then bring a small skewer to her mouth, wrap her lips around a cherry and suck it off and out of sight.  
  
Well then.  
  
The bartender returns to Oikawa and for a moment he’s distracted from the woman, the small bit of interest flickering through him. He smiles charmingly at the bartender, tilts his lips into a practiced smile that he knows others like. It causes a brow to raise but then the man is called away and Oikawa is left to his drink.  
  
It’s smooth when he puts it to his lips and swallows it down. The whiskey burns a little but it’s pleasant, welcome and Oikawa licks droplets of it off his lips and eyes the little blonde once more.  
  
She really is little. Not just short but little all around. Petite, tiny, dainty, diminutive. He’s always had a weakness for tiny little things and she is so very appealing in how her feet don’t quite touch the floor as she sits in the booth.  
  
Appealing and _familiar_.  
  
He knows her, he thinks as he sips on his drink and wracks his brain. She’s not someone he’s dated or been with. He’s sure that she didn’t go to highschool with him. Is she in one of his college classes? No, that’s not it. So where has he met her before?  
  
He ponders that idly as he drinks but can’t quite come up with the answer by the time he reaches the bottom of his glass. The bartender asks if he would like another but Oikawa shakes his head, pays and then looks to her once more.  
  
Well. He _had_ been entertaining the idea of a distraction. And she is small and alone, familiar and tempting. He has an excuse to go to her and his curiosity will be satisfied, if nothing else.  
  
Oikawa stands from the barstool and smooths his hands down his shirt, walks over to her booth and ignores the bartender’s gaze that follows him.  
  
The closer he gets to her, the more he can see that she _is_ cute as he had thought- all small hands and full lips, a button nose and dainty curves, visible clavicle and slender legs hidden by tights.  
  
It’s a wonder that she’s alone.  
  
He takes a breath before he reaches her- it really has been awhile since he’s done this- and fixes a warm smile on his face as he stops at the side of her booth.  
  
“Excuse me.”  
  
She flinches. She flinches and her thin shoulders hunch forward, a sharp inhale is taken. He blinks in surprise at the reaction and his lips twitch in a half-hearted display of guilt at startling her.  
  
Oops.  
  
“Ah, sorry,” he apologizes. Her head turns and tilts back to look up at him and _oh_ does she have such pretty doe eyes. They’re tired but so wide and pretty in their amber hue, framed with long lashes and holding caution inside. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I spotted you across the bar and I thought that I recognized you.”  
  
Her brow furrows a little bit, fine brows knitting together as she tilts her head. There’s something a little puzzled that crosses her face and Oikawa eyes it idly, takes in the bow shape of her lips and the way they part as some sort of foggy memory seems to fill her.  
  
“Oikawa Tooru,” he tells her, introducing himself for maybe a second time and trying to nudge along that remembrance. “I’m Oikawa Tooru.”  
  
She blinks and a quiet “oh” leaves her, something near shocked taking over her face. He opens his mouth to ask for her name and then she- this dainty, pretty little thing- _laughs_ .  
  
His own eyes widen and his jaw threatens to drop, an instant mix of offense and petulance whipping through him at that completely unexpected reaction.  
  
Her hand quickly raises to cover her mouth, though, and mortification runs over her, her cheeks color with embarrassment.  
  
“I-I’m so sorry,” she squeaks out, the pink of her face darkening more so. “I-I didn’t mean- I am _so_ sorry. I-It’s just been a _long_ day and I’ve already had some drinks and I just didn’t expect _you_ to pop up and I was just surprised and I _really_ didn’t mean anything by it, I _promise_.”  
  
Her words come out rushed and drenched in chagrin, honest and anxious and running together. It’s enough to calm the way his ego threatens to drop and he takes a deep breath, fixes a smile on his face once more.  
  
“So I was right,” Oikawa says, making his smile tilt up more. “We _do_ know each other.”  
  
She ducks her head almost shyly and it’s a sweet little move how she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, how her cheeks continue to glow.  
  
“Um, not- not quite?” The way it ends hesitantly makes Oikawa cock a brow and she looks up at him almost uncertainly, blinks and then shakes her head, seems as if she’s pulling some inner strength together as she gestures to the empty seat across from her. “Would...would you like to sit?”  
  
Oikawa accepts her invitation with a pleased smile that he tries to keeps casual, slides across from her and props his chin on his palm, lets his eyes draw not quite half-shut but a bit more close than they are.  
  
“So we don’t know each other?” he asks her, injecting a tease into his voice.  
  
Her flush flares and he likes that, he decides- he likes the way her pale skin colors with ease and the way her teeth dig into her bottom lip in accompaniment.  
  
“Not- Not technically?” she mumbles. She doesn’t look up at him for more than a few seconds at a time, her eyes darting up to peek through her lashes and then dipping to the scarred table once more. “Um, I was the manager for the Karasuno volleyball team back when you were a senior. Or, well, assistant manager. Kiyoko-san was the manager and I was still learning during the time but I was there and, um, so that…”  
  
Her rambling trails off and Oikawa tilts his head to the side just a bit, eyes her and tries to remember if he saw her sunny blonde hair in the midst of the black of the crows.  
  
It takes a moment or so but then a trickle of clarity runs through him and he recalls spotting her, the laughing that he and Makki and Mattsun had done among them about how small she had looked around the crows, the lewd smirks and sneers of “wonder if any has tried to eat her up?”  
  
There’s maybe a small bit of embarrassment that flits through him at the memory, some sort of groan that wants to leave him because of his past self.  
  
Oh, well. She doesn’t know that he was vicious and petty and crude that day.  
  
“Ah,” he murmurs.  
  
Her eyes lift with that and she looks a little nervous, as if he’ll be mean to her now that he knows who she is. It’s somewhat tempting, if he’s being honest with himself- he’s still holding onto past grudges with an intensity that is only recently starting to slowly fade.  
  
But he won’t be mean. She’s pretty and looks so sweet, had nothing to do with his team being beaten. It’s all in the past and he’d much rather focus on the opportunity that could possibly be unfolding before him.  
  
Oikawa smiles at her, warmly and with a carefree little hum that follows.  
  
“I do remember seeing you,” he tells her. Another burst of color flares across her cheeks, some little widening of her eyes showing off her (honestly a little amusing) surprise. “What’s your name?”  
  
She swallows and his eyes trail the movement, the way the soft flesh of her throat moves.  
  
“Y-Yachi,” she informs him, voice nearly a whisper. “Yachi Hitoka.”  
  
“Well, Yachi-san,” he says, his lips curling into a smile and her lashes fluttering just so, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”  
  
Yachi smiles and a tiny huff of laughter leaves her, shyness adorning her features and something pleased in her eyes.

* * *

  
He stays with her in the booth and she shyly, slowly warms up to him. The drinks they order help her along and he asks her about herself, draws her out of the timid shell she seems to cocoon herself in.  
  
He learns that she goes to the university as he does, that she’s studying graphic design to follow in her mother’s footsteps and that she had considered majoring in fine arts instead.  
  
“I like drawing. I like painting. I’m good at it, too. Or- or at least I’ve been told,” she tells him, quickly backpedaling lest she looks proud of her talent. “But, um, i-it’s not a viable career being an artist and well…”  
  
She trails off with a shrug and he hums, thinks of how sad it is when children forgo their dreams to fulfill their parent’s desires.  
  
There’s more that he learns about her too- that she’s partial to martinis and that her cheeks flush from alcohol, that she tends to ramble on and cut herself off when she realizes she’s dominating conversation, that she blushes after she falls silent and then lights up the room with bashful smiles when he coaxes her to keep talking.  
  
A nervous, uncertain thing she is. Shy and bumbling and sweet and almost _too_ adorable. He almost feels bad about the thought of taking her home but shy things have their desires too and Oikawa would _love_ to see what she looks like in his bed.  
  
He should find out first, though, if she is available, if he’ll be risking someone’s wrath if he continues to draw her into him.  
  
He waits until she finishes her chattering about her job (she works next door, at the bookstore he’s meant to visit but hasn’t found the chance to) and then smiles at her, runs his finger along the rim of his glass and tilts his head.  
  
“Yachi-san,” he says to her, playful and as charming as he can manage, “you sound like such a busy little bee. Doesn’t it get in the way of dates?”  
  
And she blushes so prettily at that, her head ducking and her lip bitten. There’s a mix of hesitation and petulance on her face when she lifts her head to look at him, her lips pushed into a small pout.  
  
“No,” she says, taking a breath. “I...no. I don’t really go on many dates.”  
  
That’s promising.  
  
Oikawa arches his brow and leans forward to her a bit, arms folding onto the table and a hum slipping from him.  
  
“Really now? That’s surprising,” he comments, allowing his eyes to run over her and show his interest.  
  
And it _is_ surprising because she really is appealing with her little smiles and flushed cheeks, the sweetness of her voice and the ramblings that are so very endearing.  
  
Another breath from Yachi, her pout growing a bit more.  
  
“I’ve been told I’m too much like a little sister,” Yachi informs him, letting herself get a bit huffy in her alcohol loosened state. Oikawa doubts she would complain or whine without the liquor in her veins. “Cute and fun to dote on, but not appealing enough to want to go out with.”  
  
Her words are absolutely sullen, carrying a scorn that he wouldn’t expect from her. He can see how she’s been told that before but he’s not about to poke at the irritation that it seems to fill her with.  
  
Honestly, what a shame for the ones to think that. Little darlings such as Yachi can be _so_ very enjoyable.  
  
Oikawa smiles at her and there’s a trace of amusement in the expression that he can’t quite shake, something he has to hide with a sip from his drink.  
  
“What a shame,” he tells her, sympathetic. “They’re missing out.”  
  
And she blinks at that, lashes fluttering in surprise and maybe shock. The pout melts from her and she looks over at him with pink cheeks and parted lips, something a bit embarrassed in her wide eyes but something pleased as well.  
  
“I...that’s- that’s nice of you to say,” she mumbles, too modest to agree with him. He smiles lazily and she bites her bottom lip, tugs on it hesitantly. “Um, and- and what about you? Surely there’s someone?”  
  
He thinks there might be a cautious sort of hope in the question, uncertain and a little guilty. Her eyes dart down to the table as she waits for his answer, fingers curling around the stem of her cocktail glass.  
  
“There’s no one,” he tells her, adding a sigh after. She breathes and it’s a bit deep, her eyes slowly raising to meet his. “It’s been awhile for me.”  
  
And there is another breath, soft and paired with a flicker of satisfaction in amber eyes, her lips curling up and a quiet “oh” whispered out.  
  
Oikawa smiles at her and she does not shy away but meets him head on with flushed cheeks and lowered lashes.

* * *

  
They do not stay long after that.  
  
She expresses reluctance to drink more with the way that she hesitates at the asking of the waitress and Oikawa is glad for that, does not want this to be something leaning toward skeezy and potentially taking advantage of her.  
  
He pays for their drinks and she protests, insisting that he doesn’t have to.  
  
“Oh but I _want_ to,” he tells her, almost purring it and making her flush.  
  
She quiets then and he smiles at her, winks at the disappointed bartender as he stands from the booth. Yachi stands as well and they walk out of the bar, anticipation buzzing in his skin and something a little nervous in the way his heart picks up its beat.  
  
Will they, will they not?  
  
This is the point where their nights can continue together or branch off to separate paths. This is the point that will decide if he goes home to watch the X-Files and eat too much ice cream by himself or if he’ll get to take home a pretty, sweet thing and enjoy the pleasure of her company, her body.  
  
Oikawa inhales deeply as they step out of the bar together, taking in the night air with a tilt of his head toward the sky. He gathers his confidence and then looks down at her, smiles at pink cheeks and ivory teeth sinking into a plush bottom lip, hands twisting at the hem of her sweater.  
  
He could lay it out with coy words and flirtations, he thinks. It’s what he normally would do. But he believes it’ll just make her shy away if he tries to make it a game, thinks that being direct would be best.  
  
So that’s how he does it. He looks down at that seemingly wanting, tiny, sweet little thing and says to her,  
  
“My apartment is close and I’d like our time to continue. Would you like to come home with me?”  
  
And her cheeks blaze with a tropical heat, lashes drawing half-shut and a shaky breath leaving her. For a moment he thinks she’ll say no, tell him he’s misunderstood but then- _but then_ -  
  
“I...I’d like that.”  
  
Shy but sure, nervous but wanting.  
  
Oikawa smiles and excitement makes his pulse race wild.

* * *

  
It’s a short walk home and it’s a quiet walk as well. He allows silence to hang between them but keeps close to her, a hand to the middle of her back and a smile on his face.  
  
“Oh,” Yachi whispers when they reach the building. “Sugawara-san lives here too.”  
  
That he’s all too aware of.  
  
Still he does not huff at the mention of his brat of a neighbor, smiles instead and just murmurs a little “Oh yeah?” to her.  
  
The knowledge of her former senpai residing in the same building as he does seems to calm her down a bit and Yachi relaxes slightly, leans into the hand that he keeps to her back. Oikawa is reluctant to pull it away when he opens the door but he must and he places it to her once again as he herds her to the stairwell.  
  
“Third floor,” he informs her with an apologetic smile. “The elevator is out at the moment.”  
  
Yachi just blinks at him and mumbles that it’s fine, waits until he starts walking so she can trail after him.  
  
He is already half-hard by the time they reach his door, mouth wet with anticipation and eagerness in his veins.  
  
It’s been so long since he’s done this and she is so very sweet.  
  
Yachi flutters beside him as he unlocks his door, nervous and still holding her flush and letting out some soft noise when he pushes open the door and turns to her.  
  
“Well?” he asks, soft and coaxing. “Are you still sure you want to come in?”  
  
A swallow from her, a nod. Yachi takes a shaking breath and then steps into his apartment. Oikawa tries not to smile too gleefully and licks his lips, follows after her.  
  
He does not grab onto her as he wants but closes the door first, takes the time to be responsible and locks it. He lets her walk forward after they both toe off their shoes and gives her space to breathe for a few moments before stepping toward her, placing his hands to her slim waist.  
  
“Yachi-san,” he says, words a whisper as he ducks his head down to brush his lips over her ear. “Would you like to go to the bedroom?”  
  
There’s no point in dancing around it. He knows what he wants and she’s here instead of at home, shivering and leaning back against him and letting out a soft noise as she nods her head.  
  
Good. That’s good.  
  
Oikawa hums his satisfaction at her consent and gives her waist a small squeeze, slips out from behind her and then takes a few steps forward, turns and offers her his hand and a smile.  
  
Yachi accepts and his smile tilts into a grin as his hand takes her and he begins to lead her to the bedroom.  
  
Oikawa is grateful that he cleaned the day before. Yes, his apartment is a tiny bit messy from the morning’s shenanigans but it’s clean enough to be presentable. Nothing too dirty or awful or embarrassing out in the open- no, he tossed his several half-full coffee mugs in the dishwasher last night and threw away his incriminating instant ramen wrappers in the trash right after, shoved his alien kigurumi in the closet and nudged his box of toys underneath the bed.  
  
He’s ready to lay her out and make her moan.  
  
Yachi pauses when they reach the threshold of his bedroom and Oikawa lets her, walking until her hand slips from his and then turning, smiling and tilting his head at her. Anxiety is written all over her face now that they’re so close to beginning but there’s still want as well, her chest moving with shallow breaths and her tongue darting out to wet her lips.  
  
Oikawa hums and tries to decide how to start this, settles for beckoning her with his hand and purring out her name.  
  
“Yachi-san, come here.”  
  
Her shoulders jump, just a bit, and a shaky breath is exhaled but she walks toward him, eyes to the floor and fingers clutching into the fabric of her skirt.  
  
He gives her a moment to relax once she’s stopped in front of him and then reaches a hand to tilt her face up with a knuckle, smiles down at her with half-shut eyes as he moves to cup her cheek, thumb across her soft flesh.  
  
“We won’t do anything you don’t want to do,” he reassures her, keeping his voice low but gentle. Another shaky breath from her, this time an inhale. “I just want to make you feel _good_ , Yachi-san.”  
  
A blink at that, long lashes dusting over her cheeks and her eyes searching sharply for ill intent and then softening, relaxing as she pushes into his touch.  
  
“Please,” she whispers to him, voice quiet but holding desire that makes him want to groan in delight. “Oikawa-san, please.”  
  
He hums and thumbs across her cheek once more, smiles and leans down- actually leans down; she is so, so very tiny- to kiss her.  
  
It’s just a pressing of lips at first, soft and light to begin to ease her into it. A soft pressing of their lips and then beginning to move with gentle, slow kisses that she sighs into.  
  
Once she relaxes under his hand, he runs it through her silky hair and moves it to cup the back of her head, presses just ever so slightly and coaxes their kissing into the next stage with a gentle nibble to her bottom lip and more firm movements. She allows it and it’s terribly pleasing her compliance, terribly pleasing how her fingers go to curl into his shirt and how her lips part just so for him.  
  
He cautiously traces his tongue over her bottom lip and then licks into her mouth, lightly tastes at the edges of her teeth and the roof of her mouth. And oh how she sighs at that; this soft, pretty little thing sighs in such wonderful contentment, her fingers curling tighter into his shirt and tugging on it with an insistence that asks for more.  
  
Oikawa hums and he smiles, pulling his head back and moving his hand to cup her face once more. There’s a tiny pout of petulance in the set of her lips and a petal pink flush across her cheeks and Oikawa can’t help smiling wider, smoothing his hand down until he can run his thumb over her lips and make her lashes draw half-shut.  
  
“Do you want to move to the bed?” he asks, quiet and as nonthreatening as possible, hopeful that her nerves have faded.  
  
A shaky breath from her and then a tiny nod, tongue flicking against his thumb and cheeks flaring bright.  
  
“Please,” Yachi whispers.  
  
Oh, how _wonderful_.  
  
Oikawa takes his own breath and smiles, ducks to kiss her before taking one of her hands and leading her to the bed. He nudges her to climb onto the mattress and then follows after her, licking his lips and trying not to grin _too_ hungrily at how pretty she looks against his pillows, at the shy way her knees stay together and the bite she gives to her bottom lip.  
  
His night has taken _such_ a nice turn.  
  
Another breath to center himself and gather his self-control and then he crawls forward, frames her tiny body with his and goes to his elbows so he may kiss her again.  
  
They pick up right where they left off and he adds his hand running over her side to the mix. He keeps it proper and doesn’t cup her breast even if he so very badly wants to and she tenses a little at his rubbing before relaxing once more, her hands reaching to clasp his neck and rest in his hair.  
  
It’s slow and easy and nice, their kissing. And, honestly, Oikawa would be content with just making out for the rest of the night. There’s something terribly enjoyable and satisfying about it and he hadn’t quite realized just how much he _missed_ kissing before now.  
  
But there are other things he’s missed, too, and need flickering in his stomach, hunger starting to creep through his veins and desire curling throughout him.  
  
He stays patient and enjoys the relaxed way their lips press and mold against each other, waits until her tongue cautiously brushes against his and then moves things along, slips one hand underneath her head to cradle it and moves the other to smooth over her breast above her sweater. She doesn’t tense or shy away but sighs instead, softly and just verging on a moan as she arches up into his palm.  
  
God, that’s satisfying.  
  
He chances a light squeeze to her breast and she shudders out a breath, head tilting back and her fingers curling into but not tugging his hair. He takes advantage of the way her throat is now exposed to him and smooths his lips down to it, kisses at that soft, pale skin and nips gently to make her mewl.  
  
That soft, sweet sound is _much_ too appealing and he nips at her again and again so he can hear it, squeezes a bit more roughly at her breast and laves his tongue over the bite marks when her mewls turn into whines.  
  
And, god, he’s so hungry for her now. So hungry for all her little noises and the way she presses into his touch, how her fingers are beginning to pull at his hair and the way her breaths are starting to come in little pants. So receptive, this sweet, tiny girl beneath him. So sensitive with the way she moans when he grazes his teeth over the curl of her ear, traces his tongue over that pretty shell.  
  
When he runs his hand from her breast to the hem of her sweater, there’s a hitch in her breathing, a quiet gasp as he tugs on it.  
  
“Can I take it off?” he asks her, mumbling and moving his lips against her ear. She shivers at that and he sinks his teeth lightly into her curl, flicks his tongue against it after. “Yachi-san, can I? Please?”  
  
And oh how prettily she whimpers at that, her fingers curling tight into his hair and a tremble running through her. It takes a moment but she nods, whispers out a “please” to him and hands out her consent.  
  
He has to take a breath before he moves but then Oikawa straightens up and looks down at her, licks at his lips and narrows his eyes in pleasure at the gorgeous flush to her cheeks, the bite she gives to her bottom lip, the way her throat moves in a swallow.  
  
So pretty in her shyness. So good in her want. So giving in her compliance.  
  
God, he’s lucky.  
  
Yachi helps him and lifts her arms up when he moves to strip her of her sweater and he rewards her with a kiss to the tip of her cute little button nose as he tosses the sweater to the side. Her lips twitch into a little smile at that and she shyly leans back onto her elbows, cheeks rosy as she bites her lip and looks up at him through her lashes.  
  
What a lovely sight she makes. So small and slender, flushed and soft. She has such delicate breasts, such tiny nipples that poke against the lace of her bra. It makes his mouth water, that, and he has to so very firmly grasp onto his self-control so he doesn’t just duck his head down to her and bite at one of those little buds.  
  
Oikawa takes a breath instead and leans down to frame her once more, returns his head to the crook of her neck to nip and kiss and suck as his greedy hand runs over her soft- _so fucking soft_ \- stomach and up to a breast to palm and squeeze.  
  
More mewling. More mewling and whining and soft little whimpers. His control shakes and his cock twitches in his slacks and Oikawa gives into his hunger and hurries things along, smooths his lips down the column of her throat and scrapes his teeth along her clavicle. He gets a moan for that and her fingers curl into his shirt, tug on it with a needy insistence.  
  
Oikawa leans up in obedience, reluctant to part his lips from her skin. It’s made worthwhile, though, when he strips off his shirt and her eyes go dark, her lashes fluttering as an “oh” is breathed out. Such a welcome ego stroke, that. He lets himself enjoy it and tosses her a little grin, a little half-smirk as he runs his hand through his hair. She breathes deep and her shoulders move with a silent whimper, lips pressing together and something needy flashing across her pretty face.  
  
Yachi mumbles his name and he dips down to her again, slides an arm underneath her to press her chest up and meet his lips. One of her hands finds his hair again and the other falls back against the bed, wrist turned to the ceiling and fingers curled into her palm.  
  
He thinks of being patient and kissing at her neck again, moving to taste her lips. But she is so soft and so warm and her breasts are _right there_ , small and delicious and making his mouth water.  
  
So he doesn’t be patient. He mouths down her chest until he reaches the plush, slight swell of her breasts. He noses against those soft mounds and breathes deep, groans and gives into desire and sinks his teeth into her flesh. He’s careful not to be too rough or deep with it and her breath stutters, her back arches up. He tries it again and this time her fingers tighten in his hair, her hips press up against him.  
  
Oikawa hums his satisfaction and peppers soft kisses over the light indents he has left on her, slips his hand that’s propping her up beneath him to fiddle with the hooks of her bra. Yachi lets him and she even lets out a noise of impatience, huffs when his fingers fumble. He manages to unhook it, though, and smiles in triumph, sits up a little so he can take it off of her.  
  
It’s a tease how she pulls back from him, blushing and hugging herself so she’s not quite revealed. He raises a brow but she turns her head from him, taking a shaky breath and biting her lip before letting her arms drop. He inhales sharp as the bra slides down, has to dig his fingers into the covers so he doesn’t surge forward as Yachi works it off the rest of the way. She strips that lacy thing from her and then drops it to the side of the bed, still keeps from looking at him but doesn’t try to hide as he greedily runs his gaze over her.  
  
So soft. She looks _so_ soft and _so_ pale and _so_ pretty with the petal pink of her nipples and the flush that washes over her cheeks and down to her chest. He’s so struck with her and how she looks in his bed- small, pretty, something like a fantasy- and he tries to dedicate this sight to memory, tries to burn the image of her shy face and perfect breasts, the display of her ribs and the dip of her stomach into his mind so he’ll remember it for the longest time.  
  
He takes her in and licks his lips, tries to find a way to tell her that he’s in awe of her demure beauty. He leans down to her and rests himself on his elbows, leans to nuzzle against her neck, sigh against the hollow of her throat.  
  
“You’re so beautiful.”  
  
And she trembles at that and he takes pleasure in the little whimper that sounds from her when he noses against her throat, kisses and sucks on her pulse point.  
  
“So beautiful,” he tells her again, mumbling it against her soft, warm skin. “So, so, _so_ beautiful.”  
  
Yachi whimpers again and her face is probably scarlet by now but Oikawa focuses on kissing down her chest and to her breasts, groaning in want against her before mouthing over to taste at her nipple, suck it in between his lips and gently scrape his teeth over it.  
  
Her back arches so beautifully when he does and he has to close his eyes when she cries out softly, dizzy pleasure washing through him.  
  
God, does he _want_ her.  
  
Oikawa brings his hand up to her other breast to give it attention as well and squeezes and palms and pinches as his mouth sucks and licks and bites. He does it until she begins to squirm and whine and then reverses the order of mouth and hand, makes her whine even louder.  
  
He does it until need demands more and then begins to slide his hand down her torso, squeezing at her waist before drifting down further. She doesn’t stop him when he pushes at her skirt and Oikawa blinks in surprise when his fingers brush over skin and not the material of tights as expected. He pauses the circling of his tongue around her nipple and sits up, glances to where he’s rucked her skirt up and then swears.  
  
Not tights. _Stockings_. Pretty, shy, nervous little Yachi is wearing stockings and a garter belt underneath her skirt.  
  
Oikawa feels his heart beat hard and takes a ragged breath, his cock twitching in his slacks and his attention zeroing in on the lacy straps holding up the stockings, the way her pale skin contrasts with the charcoal of the fabric.  
  
Fuck. _Fuck_.  
  
Before he can really stop himself, Oikawa moves and dips down, touches at her thighs to part them more so he can rest between them. He only stops himself from forcing them apart when her sharp inhale reaches his ears and Oikawa glances up to Yachi, surely dark and carnivorous in his hunger and eagerness. Scarlet blossoms on her cheeks and her chest raises quick with shallow breaths, teeth digging into her bottom lip and fingers curling tight into the covers.  
  
He waits for a sign to backpedal or push on and licks his lips, tries not to let his impatience make his fingers dig into her thighs. A moment passes and then another and then Yachi gives a tiny nod, spreads her legs and throws an arm over her face to hide her eyes.  
  
How excellent her sweet compliance, her bashful desire.  
  
Oikawa breathes and it’s a little shaky, his hands rubbing along her smooth inner thighs before moving to flip up her skirt, expose the garter belt and panties that match her discarded bra. It’s such a shock to see it, really, and some part of his mind tries to reconcile lingerie with the image he had formed of her.  
  
Mostly, though, he tries not to act like a too eager teen as he moves a hand to run over her. Her hips twitch and tighten at his touch and oh how they move in such a tiny little grind. He looks up to her when they do but she’s still hiding with her arm over her eyes, cheeks flushed and her free hand fisting the covers.  
  
Oikawa dips his eyes back to her hips and licks his lips, squeezes at his cock through his slacks before settling himself between her pale legs. A soft, questioning noise floats from her but he quiets it by slipping his hands underneath her hips and pulling her closer, leaning and nosing against her crotch.  
  
He gets a moan for that but he barely realizes it, much more intent on the way her panties are soaked and how her hips twitch underneath his hands. Oikawa grips them a bit more firmly and then mouths at her panties, groans when she grinds and growls when she whimpers.  
  
He wants to _devour_ her. He’s not usually so hungry and greedy with sweet little things like her but she is just _so_ sweet and _so_ reactive, _so_ soft and _so_ perfect. There’s no helping the hunger in him, the carnal build of need and lust that has him pushing his face tight against her, teasing her through her panties until she begins to thrash a little.  
  
“ _Please_ ,” she begs, a whimper trailing after. “Oikawa-san, _please_.”  
  
And oh how pretty that is, the need in her voice and the way her thighs tremble. How can he deny such a sweet little thing?  
  
Oikawa takes a breath and pulls himself up from between her thighs, runs his tongue over his teeth as he hooks his fingers underneath her panties. She doesn’t say anything as he starts to tug them down but she does lifts her hips to help him, bites her bottom lip and shivers as he trails his lips down her thighs. He pulls up when he reaches her knees and they knock together, hiding her from view as he slides her panties off the rest of the way.  
  
What a sight she is with her stockings and her garter belt, the rest of her on full display for him.  
  
He licks his lips and reaches a hand to pluck the strap of her garter belt, rubs along the outside of her thigh after.  
  
“Do you want this off too?” Oikawa asks her, voice a little rough.  
  
She hesitantly moves her arm from her eyes and to her forehead, peeks at him through her lashes. Yachi nods and then she breathes shakily, props herself up on her elbows.  
  
“You…” She trails off and her eyes dart to the side again, closing with a flutter of her lashes. “You...you too. Um, you should take off…”  
  
And her words fade away again. He knows what she means, though, and smiles to himself, holds back a huff of laughter.  
  
What a shy, sweet thing she is.  
  
He crawls off the bed and turns his back to her, allows her to strip herself down without his attention. He takes his belt off and drops it to the floor on top of his shirt, pops open the button of his slacks and then pulls his zipper down. For a moment he wonders if she’s watching him and grins a bit before pushing his pants down and stepping out of them.  
  
He leaves his briefs on. They’re not quite there yet. Just a little bit more.  
  
Oikawa takes a little breath and he turns back to her, humming approvingly at how she’s all bare for him, sitting with her legs splayed a little, her hands fisting the covers between them and hiding her from view. She’s pink cheeked and nervous again, lashes lowered and head bowed. When she looks up through her lashes, she ends up letting out a soft wanting noise and then flushing darker, turning her head away in embarrassment.  
  
Oikawa huffs and smiles, moving to kneel on the bed in front of her. Her shoulders jump at the quiet squeak of mattress springs and she inhales shakily when his fingers brush over her jawline, but she allows him to turn her face toward him without a fight and she looks up at him a little hazily, head tilted back and lips parted. She melts a bit when he thumbs across her heated cheek and presses into his touch, looks just like everything he could ever want when she mumbles his name.  
  
“God you’re so pretty,” he tells her, not even meaning to say it but unable to help himself.  
  
Yachi’s cheeks flare and he smiles, leans down and kisses her gently.  
  
Gently is not quite what she seems to want, though. She presses her lips against his more firmly and surprises Oikawa by nipping at his bottom lip, curling her fingers against his chest. He opens his mouth to her and she flicks her tongue in, slick and needy and so sweet with the way she whines. He hums into the kiss at that and her fingers flatten against his chest, palms sliding cautiously over pecs and abs; her fingers brushing against his happy trail before jumping away and moving to roam over his shoulders, arms looping around his neck.  
  
“You can touch. ‘S okay,” he mumbles against her lips, flicking his tongue at the bit of spit that clings to them. “No need to be shy.”  
  
Yachi just shivers in response, going to her knees and trying to press against him. He hums and then wraps his arms around her, begins to lay them down.  
  
When her back hits the mattress, she parts her legs for him and he slots himself between them, pleased at the way her head tilts back and how she shakily breathes out his name. He runs his fingers through her hair with one hand and then runs the other down her body, over a breast and pausing to pinch at her nipple and make her gasp before smoothing over her ribcage and down her stomach, inching slowly to cup her, run a finger through her slit.  
  
She is so very _wet_. So wet and so warm and so _good_.  
  
He searches for her clit and strokes over it as he dips his head to mouth at her throat, groaning against it when she stutters out a gasp and her hips roll up.  
  
“That’s it,” he murmurs, pressing an open mouthed kiss to her neck. “That’s it, Yachi-san.”  
  
She trembles and she whimpers and he wonders how long it’s been for her, how long it’s been for him.  
  
Too long, probably. Too long for them both.  
  
He strokes over her clit until she’s mewling and grinding against him for relief, nibbling along her neck and sucking on her earlobe to egg her on, to help her get that much more frantic. It’s when her hands go to rest on his shoulders and her nails dig into his flesh that he twists his wrist so he can grind his palm against her clit and sink a finger into her.  
  
God, she is so fucking _wet_.  
  
Yachi arches and she whimpers, nails digging deeper into his skin and drawing down to the middle of his back. He hisses and she gasps, mumbles out an apology that gets lost in a moan when he grinds the heel of his palm harder against her clit and curls his finger within her, strokes along her silken walls.  
  
She’s so swollen and so beautifully throbbing, her hips rocking to meet him and her lips trembling as she whimpers and mewls and whines. Her nails scratch at him when he slips a second finger in and Oikawa groans, goes up to his elbow so he can watch her fall apart beneath him.  
  
So pretty. Oh, she is so pretty and so sweet and he thinks he could look at her flushed cheeks and half-shut eyes, her hair fanned out over his pillows and her reddened, parted lips for _forever_.  
  
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he tells her, slipping a third finger inside perfect heat. She whimpers and he thinks it’s something close to a sob that slips from her after, her nails digging into him and her walls clenching around his digits. “God, yeah. You’re so _good_.”  
  
And she flutters her lashes and she moans, hips rolling to meet his fingers and her leg reaching to hitch up over his waist. He curls his fingers and she whimpers for him again, hands falling from his back to rest against the pillows and eyes meeting his hazily.  
  
“You want it, Yachi-san?” he asks her, dipping down to brush their lips together. He curls his fingers again and she pants, she mewls. “Please, Yachi-san. I’ll make you feel _so_ good, I promise.”  
  
A shaky breath and a moan as he rubs against her clit, kisses at the corner of her lips. She nods and she trembles, throat moving in a swallow when he pulls back to look at her.  
  
“Please,” she mumbles to him. “I...please?”  
  
Oikawa groans and he nods, sitting up and slipping his fingers from her, raising them up so he can lick and suck her sticky juices off them. She squeaks when he does that and he grins a little drunkenly, squeezes at her thigh with his free hand.  
  
“Give me just a second, Yachi-san,” he tells her, pulling away. “Make yourself comfortable.”  
  
She flushes, still shy even in her haze, and he leans over to rifle through his nightstand, thanks god that he still has a few scattered condoms. He considers the lube but she is _so very_ _soaked_ and just picks up a foiled packet instead, closes the drawer and then moves to brace himself over her.  
  
She shivers when he kisses her and he fumbles off his underwear as fast as he can, kicking it off his foot and wrapping his hand around his cock to give it a light squeeze, get some minor relief. He shudders when he does and he bites into her bottom lip, twists his wrist and moves his hand, slicks the precum oozing out of him down his length.  
  
When he pulls back to tear the foil open, her eyes drift down to his cock and he swears that he has never felt so gratified when she- tiny, sweet, flushed _Yachi Hitoka_ \- breathes shallow and quick, licks her lips and moans out a soft “ _oh, god_.”  
  
_Oh_.  
  
He smirks, smug and vindicated, and then tears the packet open with his teeth, slides the condom on with practiced (if rusty) ease. Her eyes trace his hand’s movements and then jump up to his face, cheeks flaring with a tropic heat and teeth digging into her bottom lip.  
  
He crawls toward her, over her, and frames her small- so, so, so fucking _small_ \- body with his, cups her cheek and dips to place an indulgent kiss to her hairline, her cheeks, the tip of her cute little button nose. Yachi trembles and he rubs his cock against her slit, lines himself up with her entrance.  
  
“Ready?” he asks, trying to be considerate, trying not to push in rudely. She nods and breathes deep, a hand curling beside her face. “Okay, good...good.”  
  
Very fucking good.  
  
When Oikawa slides in, she moans so sweetly and she pulses, she throbs all around him. Yachi is so _hot_ inside, holds such blistering, perfect, searing heat and he groans, low and pleased, as he sinks into her inch by _aching_ inch.  
  
“Oh- _Oh-_ Oh god, _Oikawa-san_.”  
  
It’s whimpered out and he loves the way she mewls, loves how she trembles and how her head tosses to the side, how her back arches up for him.  
  
“Good, so fucking good,” he whispers to her, voice nearly croaky at the wonder of her throbbing heat. “ _God_.”  
  
And he normally never curses so much but he just can’t help the words dropping from his lips, lost in how perfect and _good_ it feels to be inside of her.  
  
He pauses when he’s resting fully in her, bows his head and presses kisses to her hair as he tries to take hold of his senses and as she whimpers. It takes a moment but then he goes to his elbows, moving a hand to curl fingers into her hair and slipping the other underneath her, pressing her back up into an arch and groaning when her legs wrap around his waist, when her ankles cross against his back.  
  
She looks up at him- dazed and wanting and so very pretty- and mumbles his name, reaches a hand to run down his chest.  
  
That’s enough to encourage him and Oikawa licks his lips, breathes just a bit shakily as he pulls out a little, slides back in.  
  
A whimper, a tremble, her lashes fluttering. She moans and her hips move to meet his shallow thrusts, little insistent noises sounding from her asking for more.  
  
He gives her more.  
  
He grits his teeth a little and bows his head to press his lips to her forehead, breathes in deep through his nose before snapping his hips rough and sharp. A gasp rips from her at that and he grinds into her deep, pulls back and thrusts once more.  
  
Her hands fly to his back this time and her nails dig into his, stinging as she slides them down.  
  
Deep and just a little rough, hungry and greedy. He hunches over her and brings his lips to her neck, mouths and kisses at it, licks the sweat that is starting to bead up on her soft skin. His hands find her waist and he pulls her tighter against him, angling to find that sweet spot of hers.  
  
God, how she shakes when he does find it- her moan morphing into a keen and her back arching so fucking beautifully as she tilts her head back, offers more of her neck to him.  
  
He keeps at it until they are both trembling, until her little noises are verging on sobs and his thighs are burning from thrusting and grinding and fucking. He sucks on her pulse point then and reaches to find her clit, stroking against it with his thumb as he mutters and mumbles against her skin, trying to coax her closer to the edge.  
  
“So good, so good. You feel so _fucking good_. God, yes, _fuck_. Are you gonna come for me? Please? Wanna feel you. God, Yachi-san, _please_.”  
  
And she sobs at that, rocks her hips to meet him hard, her own little pleas slipping from her in strangled little litanies. Once, twice, three times he thrusts and then Yachi is squeezing around him so impossibly tight, forcing his mind to disconnect as she cries out his name and writhes underneath him.  
  
His vision goes spotty and he squeezes his eyes shut, burying his face against her neck and growling out as his pleasure spikes and rolls over him in boiling wave, his orgasm ripping through him like a monsoon.  
  
“Fuckfuck _fuck_.”  
  
He swears he ascends to Paradise as he rides his orgasm out, grinding into her and panting against her skin as she whimpers and mewls and moans.  
  
“Ah, _ah_. Oh- _Oikawa-san_.”  
  
He hopes he remembers her breathless voice until the day he passes.  
  
Oikawa shudders as he calms and as his pulse starts to steady, grinding into her a little bit more before pulling from her neck and bracing himself on his forearms. Her face is so drowsy and serene as he looks down at her, lashes fluttering a little and her cheeks flushed the prettiest of pinks. He smiles at her tiredly and her lips curl to return it, some shaky, giddy, soft laugh slipping out of her.  
  
“Good?” he asks, dipping to kiss her briefly.  
  
She nods and he smiles a bit wider, presses his lips to her forehead as he pulls out. She whimpers when he does and he brushes his fingers over her cheek in apology, sitting up and running his hand through his hair after. It’s a little sweaty and he feels sticky, her juices all over his hips and inner thighs. When he looks at her again, her hair is roughed up, messy and tangled. There are marks all along her neck and some faint bruises on her breasts and he almost feels a little guilty for a moment.  
  
Almost.  
  
He takes a breath and grins at her, feeling languid and relaxed and so much better than he has in _weeks_. By the way Yachi is sighing and how she blinks up heavily at him, lips holding a little smile and a yawn slipping out, Oikawa thinks she’s feeling pretty great herself.  
  
“You want a shower?” he asks, waving his hand behind him, gesturing to the bathroom across the hall.  
  
Yachi blinks and she nods, looking past him and then up at him again almost questioningly.  
  
“I’ll join you,” he promises her. “I’m just going to change the sheets first.”  
  
She hums and she nods once more, crawling out of the bed and standing on shaky legs. He watches her walk off, stumbling a little and yawning again, and smiles to himself, licks his lips at the view he gets of her pert little butt.  
  
He just had her but he’d love to take her again.  
  
Oikawa huffs to himself for being greedy but grins because _who wouldn’t be_ , takes the condom off and tosses it in his waste basket. He strips his sheets and covers off and replaces them with the ones he has tucked away in the top of his closet. They haven’t seen the light of day in ages and they smell a little stale but they’re clean and that’s all that really matters.  
  
He hums when he pulls away from his bed, runs his hand through his hair and glances toward the bathroom, the steam starting to coil out from underneath the door.  
  
He remembers her curves and her taste, her moans and the way she molded so perfectly against him.  
  
Oikawa licks his lips and then heads to join her.

* * *

  
He joins Yachi in the shower and kisses her deeply, backs her against the wall and then falls to his knees. He eats her out until she’s shaking, pulling her leg over his shoulder and making her curl her fingers into his hair. She cries out and she grinds against him and covers him with her juices as she comes again and Oikawa drinks it all down with a moan.  
  
Yachi threatens to collapse when he pulls back from her and gently moves her leg from his shoulder, shivers and looks down at him so tiredly as he grins up at her.  
  
He washes her hair after and then his own, lathers his hands with body wash and then runs them over her soft form.  
  
You’d think he’d have had enough but, honestly, something carnivorous and starving is rearing up inside him and Oikawa can’t help slipping his fingers within her when his hand dips low. There’s a noise of protest from Yachi but then she lets him turn her, leans to brace her forearms against the wall and accepts his fingers with a moan.  
  
He hardens again and he breathes in deep, runs his free hand over her back and squeezes at her hip, her ass. She mewls when he gives her a gentle little spank and her hips roll to grind against his fingers, head turning to meet his gaze over her shoulder.  
  
When her eyes land on his cock, hard and eager for her, she shudders and rocks back, a mumble of “please” slipping from her.  
  
And it’s stupid and risky but he removes his fingers and gives her what she wants, a hand reaching to hold onto her shoulder for leverage as he thrusts into her again. It’s gorgeous how her back arches and it’s perfect how swollen she still is- how wet and silken and burning her core feels as he grinds into her and swears.  
  
Neither of them last long and she comes with a pathetic little whimper, knees knocking together and her body trembling as he pulls himself out and jerks off to completion, groaning her name out hoarsely.  
  
Oikawa washes her properly after that, a little dazed and a bit exhausted. He washes himself once she’s taken care of and winces at how the water pelts down cold, hurriedly ushers her from the shower and wraps her in a towel.  
  
They dry themselves off and he takes his contacts out, lends her his comb so she can unknot her hair. They sort themselves and then comes the uncertainty of her staying or leaving, if he’ll spend the rest of the night alone.  
  
Honestly, he’s bone tired now and she’s looking so very exhausted herself and it’s been _ages_ since he’s gotten laid but it’s been even longer since he’s shared a bed with someone, actually slept beside another person.  
  
He doesn’t want her to leave.  
  
So when she pads into his room and looks over at her clothes and then to him, he smiles a little at her and walks to his dresser, pokes around and finds an old shirt that he thinks won’t completely swallow her whole.  
  
“Here,” he tells her, bringing it over. When she blinks and looks up at him, sleepy and a little puzzled, he huffs a bit and presses it into her small hands, smiles. “To sleep in.”  
  
“Oh,” Yachi whispers out, her lips curling into a shy and pleased smile. “Thank- thank you.”  
  
And, god, that’s so sweet and she’s so pretty, her hair damp and her makeup washed away, face still holding the remnants of a flush and her neck pink from where he bit and sucked and nipped.  
  
She pulls his shirt over herself as he goes to grab a pair of boxers and sweatpants. He thinks to throw her clothes in the wash when he passes them and the simple gesture of him tossing them into the washing machine for her makes Yachi beam up brightly- if sleepily- at him.  
  
He thinks he just scored some major points in her book. When he’ll cash them in, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if he’ll even see her after this.  
  
But he doesn’t want to think about that. He wants to think about the pleased smile that curls up onto her lips when he tugs her back toward the bed. He wants to think of how soft she is against him, so relaxed as she’s curled against his chest. He wants to think of her sleepy little hum of contentment that sounds when he kisses her hair, the way she yawns so quietly and cutely.  
  
He puts his arm around her and pulls her close, smiles into her hair and drifts off as she takes his hand and covers it with hers.

* * *

  
His phone blares in the morning, alarm going off with a shrill shriek that startles them both to consciousness. He apologizes to her as he fumbles with his phone and she gives him a sleepy little pout, rubbing at her eye with her fist.  
  
When the beeping cuts off and silence falls over the room, her hand falls from her eye and Yachi yawns quietly before looking around the room. Oikawa watches her, waiting for a reaction, and she blinks at him when her gaze falls on him, head tilting to the side and confusion crossing over her face.  
  
She blinks again and then she flushes positively crimson.  
  
Sleepy eyes widen and her hand flies to her face, hiding the shocked way her lips have parted and muffling the “ _oh my god_ ” that she squeaks out.  
  
Something a little nervous crawls down his spine at that and he has to curl his fingers into his palm to keep from biting his lip.  
  
Is she upset? Bothered with how they spent the night?  
  
He takes a breath and forces a little smile on his face, his friendly one that crinkles the corners of his eyes as he tilts his head to the side- the one that  _usually_ soothes over worried little sweethearts.  
  
“Everything alright?” he asks, barely pulling off the casual tone he’s going for.  
  
She nods and her cheeks still stay flaring, her hand moving from her mouth to tuck some of her hair behind her ear.  
  
“Yea-Yeah,” Yachi tells him, voice a little quiet and shy. Her eyes drop to her lap and she runs a hand over her borrowed shirt, lips twitching and a shaky breath taken. “Um, s-sorry. I...I, um...I thought it was a dream?”  
  
Her uncertainty and the way she ends it like a question makes him burst out into a laugh and she flushes darker with embarrassment, puffs up with a pout. Oikawa grins and he looks away, running his hand through his hair and trying to hold back another chuckle.  
  
“It was nice as any dream, I suppose,” he tells her, looking back over and smiling. She stays puffed up and he eyes her pout, the little bruises on her neck. “Better than most, actually.”  
  
And that’s cheesy and she knows it and he knows she knows it but he’s just woken up and his brain is still kickstarting and he’s honestly just relieved that she doesn’t _seem_ to be regretting the night before. She softens with the words, besides, and he smiles at her, yawns.  
  
“You want coffee?” he asks.  
  
Hesitation on her face and then she nods, smiles with a touch of shyness but looks a bit pleased with the curl of her lips as well.  
  
“That...that would be nice,” she tells him, voice a little soft. “Um...I left my purse in the hallway, right?”  
  
He nods in confirmation and she smiles, mumbles something about checking her phone before crawling out of bed. Satisfaction ripples through Oikawa at the way his shirt dangles down to her knees, slipping just so along her shoulder.  
  
It looks good on her. He wouldn’t mind seeing her in it again.  
  
But who knows if that will happen?  
  
He sighs a little but forces himself from bed, scratches at his stomach and grabs his glasses before stumbling to the bathroom. A quick piss, a brush of his teeth and then his hair (god, how long has it been since someone’s seen the terror of his bedhead?) and then he leaves to go to the kitchen, pausing to toss her clothes into the dryer as he walks past the machines.  
  
She’s in the kitchen when he walks in, squinting at her phone a little and frowning just a bit. He walks up to her but Yachi doesn’t seem to notice, absorbed in whatever she’s looking at. Oikawa pushes back the huff that wants to slip from him when he doesn’t have her attention and steps behind her instead, looping his arms around her waist and pulling her close as he dips his head down to nuzzle against her.  
  
“Everything alright, Yachi-san?” he asks, pressing a kiss to her temple to hide his laugh when her shoulders jump in surprise. “You’re staring at your phone awfully hard.”  
  
“I-I’m fine,” she tells him, voice a little squeaky. She moves to turn to face him and tilts her head up, cheeks tinted pink. “Everything is...Everything is…”  
  
Distraction on her face, her words trailing off. Her eyes widen a little and he raises a brow in response, wondering what could make her grow quiet.  
  
“You wear glasses,” she comments, almost breathing it out. He huffs out a laugh and nods and her fingers curl against his chest seemingly without her thinking. “I...I didn’t know.”  
  
And oh how weak her voice is, oh prettily she looks up at him- shy and flustered and wanting. He grins and looks over the rims down at her and she blushes more so, biting her lip and pushing against him just a bit.  
  
She’s really good for his ego.  
  
Oikawa brings a hand up to pat her head and smiles at her, tilts his own head to the side.  
  
“So...coffee. And...do you have time for breakfast or?” he asks, trying to figure out how much time he has left with her.  
  
She blinks and then looks down at her phone, peeks up at him through her lashes after.  
  
“I have time,” she informs him, voice maybe a little hesitant. “You don’t have to-”  
  
“I want to,” he tells her, firm and honest. He pulls away and walks to the counter before she can protest, begins pulling his tin of coffee and mugs down from the cupboard. “I’ll make you whatever you’d like.” Or, try. He’s maybe not the most skilled chef...but at least he’s earnest? “What do you want?”  
  
“Your number.”  
  
He nearly drops a mug at that.  
  
_What?_    
  
Oikawa fumbles and sets the mug down safely, whips around to look at her with almost wide eyes. She looks just as shocked as he does, one hand covering her mouth and the other clutching her phone tight enough that her knuckles turn white.  
  
“I- I mean- I mean-”  
  
Yachi cuts herself off and flushes a shade of red he’s sure hasn’t been discovered yet. Oikawa’s left a little speechless by her boldness, silent as she takes a deep breath and looks up at him with a determined little look.  
  
“I- I had fun last night,” she tells him, words nervous and cheeks red. “And- And- well...well...I wouldn’t mind, um...I wouldn’t mind it maybe happening again.” He blinks in an effort to try to process the words and she backpedals, throwing her hands up and panicking. “Or- or just to talk! Get to know each other more! I- I think you’re interesting and I really, really did enjoy myself and we don’t have to do anything but I think I’d like to get to know you and- and...”  
  
A smile twitches at Oikawa’s lips and he steps toward her, holds out his hand and looks pointedly down at her phone. She hesitates and then hands it over, watching him with a hopeful little look as he swipes at her screen and begins typing.  
  
“You’re cute, Yachi-san,” he tells her, keeping his eyes on the phone and trying not to show just how very pleased he is. “And you’re sweet and you’re charming in your own little way. _I_ had fun and _you_ had fun and I’d like it if something came from this.” He lifts his head up from the screen and then hands the phone back to her, smiles at her so very wide eyes. “Well, don’t look so surprised. Now, how do you like your coffee? Tell me you’re not one of those _barbarians_ that likes it black.”  
  
Yachi stares at him, mouth opening and closing before she blinks and shakes her head a little, bites her lip and smiles.  
  
“I...I like it sweet,” she mumbles to him, hands twisting at the fabric of her borrowed shirt.  
  
“Me too,” he tells her, turning and walking back to the counter with a hidden, pleased grin. “Guess that’s why I like you so much.”  
  
Oikawa hears her huff and then the light padding of her footsteps, listens to a chair being pulled from the kitchen table. He’s cheesy now that they’ve fucked and he doesn’t have to woo her but he’s grinning and he’s happy, smoothed around the edges and so very pleased.  
  
It’s going to be a good day, he thinks as he flicks on the coffee pot. It’s going to be a really good day.

**Author's Note:**

> rare pairs, man.
> 
> Come say hi and hello on [my tumblr](https://moramew.tumblr.com/)~


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